


Finding Your Way Back Home

by teardrops_on_ghostly_wings



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Warlock Dowling, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crying, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Godparents Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens), Hugs, M/M, Protective Crowley, Warlock Dowling Needs a Hug, Warlock is a whole ass mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teardrops_on_ghostly_wings/pseuds/teardrops_on_ghostly_wings
Summary: Living as the son of a diplomat is never easy but the world has been especially cruel to Warlock Dowling.After missing his nanny and gardener for 6 years, he plans a trip to England with his family in the hope of finding them again and reconnecting.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Comments: 20
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I intended for this fic to be 4-5k but as you can see, I quite missed the mark with that. 
> 
> This first chapter is all about Warlock then the second chapter is his interactions with the husbands so you can skip there if teenage venting isn’t your cup of tea.

Living as the son of a diplomat is never easy but the world has been especially cruel to Warlock Dowling. His childhood was shaped by neglect from his parents which only got worse over the years. As his father’s political career started to decline, he spent less and less time at home which further strained their relationship. While his father was drawn further into the poison of politics, his mother became even cooler and more aloof out of anger at their marriage falling apart.

As a child Warlock fully relied on his nanny and gardener to give him the love he was desperate for, but once they left, he lost everyone. As strange as the two of them were, they gave him the affection no one else thought to offer. At the time, losing them felt like the end of the world, and to this day, it still feels like a part of Warlock left with the two of them.

After the disastrous trip to the Middle East when Warlock was 11, his father decided England wasn't working out and moved the family back to America. He said it was because being a foreign diplomat made him worry for his family’s safety, but everyone knew it was to progress his dreams of reaching the Senate. 

Losing all the friends he'd made and having his whole life changed made it almost impossible for Warlock to move on. Very quickly he spiralled into a depressive episode which lasted the next 6 years despite many expensive therapist visits. Perhaps if his parents knew how to approach a problem any way aside from throwing money at it, things might have turned out differently.

Moving into puberty only made things so much harder as Warlock started getting to know himself. It became more and more clear that if his parents bothered to pay attention to him, they'd disown him. As he got older it was impossible to ignore his attraction to men and how feminine he was. When it reached the point that any decent parent would realise their son was gay and genderqueer, Warlock's only looked away and stayed oblivious. 

After years of begging to return to England even just for a holiday, Harriet Dowling finally agreed to shut her son up. It seemed the only way to stop his constant nagging and interrupting her nights alone with a bottle of wine. Warlock was well aware it was only used as a last resort by a mother at the end of her tether, but he couldn’t care less. England was the last place he felt truly happy, so he’d take any excuse to go back.

The whole plane ride Warlock spent peering out the window and squirming in his seat from excitement until his mother told him to sit still or she'd take his phone for a month. Under threat of losing his only connection to people who actually liked him, Warlock obeyed and stayed still but couldn't stop his tumbling thoughts.

Hunting down his old nanny and gardener was a fantasy he'd had since the day they left but he's old enough now to know it's ridiculous. Finding someone called Francis in all the UK is an impossible task and finding Nanny Ashtoreth is only slightly more likely. He never found out if that was her first name, last name or not even a real name at all. If he had more of a relationship with his father, he could have used his government connections to get more leads but that happening was about as likely as Hell freezing over twice. 

Despite the impossibility, Warlock's never lost hope that maybe, just maybe, he'll find them. It would take a true act of God to make it happen and so far, God hasn't seemed to be listening, but Warlock can only hope that after all the misery in his life, he's earned this. He’d happily put up with anything else the world threw at him if he could get back the only two people who've ever truly loved him. 

As the plane lands Warlock clutches his mother’s hand despite her complaints and pulls her down the aisle. They're two of the first people off the plane and the second Warlock gets outside he feels calmer. Rationally he knows the air in London is nothing different from the air in Washington or anywhere else in the world, but he feels at home. This country was where he was born and raised so back fills a void inside him that seemed as though it would be empty forever. 

In a daze, he follows his mother through the airport to pick up their bags and take a car to their summer house in London.

It's different from where they lived in his childhood but has the same old English feel he's never been able to forget. In his father’s signature fashion, the house is three stories tall and appears to be more of a mansion than a cottage, but even that can’t take away from its charm. Its roof is thatched, windows wide and surrounded by white shutters and walls covered in vibrant green ivy. Behind the house Warlock can see a sprawling lawn dotted with rose bushes and an enormous willow tree standing proud in the center.

The house is nothing like Warlock’s own preferences, but he’d always choose it over the stifling prison they call a house back in Washington. He can tell from looking at it that the inside will be light and airy, and the backyard alone is worth everything it took to get them here.

In the distance he can hear car horns and people talking but as soon as they pull through the gates of the house, it all falls away. To Warlock it seems like the perfect sanctuary while also being close enough to central London that they can do as much sightseeing as they wish.

Thaddeus Dowling had business to wrap up before joining his family so Warlock and his mother were on their own for the first 2 days. Despite the complaints he listened to on the plane ride, Warlock can’t bring himself to care. All his father does is ruin the mood of every room he enters and smother his family to the point of suffocation so he’s no great loss.

Warlock’s learnt by now that his mother will likely spend the first few days sulking and drinking in her room so he’s free to explore to his hearts content. Harriet Dowling fluctuates between pretending her son doesn’t exist and controlling every move he makes so Warlock needs to make the most of her uncaring phase. He fully intends to climb the willow tree and find good places in its branches where he can read comfortably without being seen from the house. It looks like the perfect hide out and maybe if he plays his cards right, they’ll forget he exists and go back to America without him so he can stay in England forever.

After claiming a room on the second floor with the best view of the garden and hastily unpacking his suitcase, Warlock runs outside. He takes a stroll through the peaceful idyllic garden until he’s sure his mother will be 2 glasses deep in her whiskey.

A quick check of all the windows facing out into the garden tells him no one is watching so he heads for the massive tree. It takes a few minutes to get his gangly, clumsy body up into the tree, but he finds a perfect nook to sit in.

In the tree all his stress and worries seem to melt away and Warlock can finally breathe easily. With the branches of the willow blocking him from the house, it almost feels like he’s entered a different world. No one knows where he is which means he can do whatever he wants and be whoever he wants without judgement.

After soaking in the relaxed atmosphere, Warlock squirms around until he finds the perfect comfy spot. Sleeping on planes has never been a skill Warlock possesses so he’s exhausted and ready for a nap. He manages to doze for what feels like 5 minutes, but must be closer to 3 hours, until he hears voices carrying across the lawn.

His groggy half-asleep brain tells him it must be the staff meant to be maintaining the house for them during their stay. Having servants seems a little extreme but Warlock knows anything is better than expecting his mother to cook for them.

Harriet Dowling has cooked dinner only once in recent memory and won’t be doing it again any time soon. It started with the promise of chicken soup but ended with a visit from firefighters and the purchase of a new kitchen unit. Since then they’ve gotten their meals ready made from a chef, delivered to the Dowling house once a week and only needing to be reheated. It’s better for everyone’s health and safety, but in the end all it does is allow Warlock’s parents to eat separately while their son has lukewarm microwave dinners alone.

Warlock reluctantly leaves his tree but promises himself that he’ll be back soon with blankets and his favourite books to make it a proper hideout. He’d never been allowed a treehouse as a kid and won’t turn down the perfect opportunity to make up for that loss.

The rest of the day involves curling up out of everyone’s way on the comfiest couch he can find and reading his history textbook.

Thaddeus has never been pleased his son prefers history over what he deems to be more ‘manly’ subjects like politics and economics. He’s happy to drone on about American presidents and the civil war but if Warlock tries to bring up the Roman Empire or his favourite 19th century artists, it’s quickly shut down.

Despite the lack of interest from everyone around him and constant encouragement to pick a better interest, Warlock remains steadfast. It all started with the stories of ancient times his nanny told him and he still can’t get enough of it. He’s already finished the next 6 months of his history homework because he can’t keep his nose out of the textbook. Warlock thinks he must have read it cover to cover at least half a dozen times by that point and intends to get that total into double digits by the end of the school year.

When the light has dimmed enough that Warlock can’t see the pages of his book enough to read, he starts searching for his mother. A look at the nearest clock tells him it’s almost 8pm so he’s getting very hungry. He’d gorged on snacks during the plane ride, but his stomach is complaining rather loudly that it’s well past lunchtime back home, so he needs something more substantial.

Walking into the kitchen, Warlock’s greeted with a rush of cold air and complete silence. It may have been naive of him to hope someone would be there to feed him, but he couldn’t help himself hoping. He vaguely remembers his mother mentioning the chef would arrive the day after they did, but it does nothing to improve his sour mood.

A quick search of the shelves finds a fully stocked pantry, so he cuts a few jagged slices of bread and eats them as he trails back upstairs to his room. There’s no light on in his mother’s room so Warlock assumes she’s drunk enough to overcome the jetlag and pass out, without thinking of her son as usual.

After eating his depressing meal of slightly stale bread, Warlock curls up in his bed and pulls up Netflix on his phone. It takes hours of mindlessly watching RuPaul’s Drag Race before the teenager feels even remotely sleepy. Dramatic reality TV always manages to distract from his own ridiculous life but Warlock struggles to sleep properly even at the best of times. Jetlag and anger at his absent mother only make it even harder to relax enough to fall asleep. Earlier in the tree it seemed so easy and if it wasn’t so cold at night in England, Warlock might be tempted to go back out there just to get some rest.

Finally, when the clocks ticked on past 3am, Warlock connects his phone to his charger before lying down properly. He lies staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, telling himself “This is where I want to be, everything will be better now that I’m here” over and over again until he succumbs to sleep.

* * *

The sound of chirping birds breaks Warlock from sleep, making him shove his head under the pillow in frustration. It’s a million times better than the usual blaring of his alarm clock but after a sleepless night, his whole body feels heavier than usual.

It takes another half hour before Warlock manages to drag himself out of bed, mostly because of his stomach once again grumbling.

A look at his phone tells him it’s just past noon so he pulls on a shirt and sweatpants, before venturing downstairs. Like yesterday the house is mostly but he finds the chef setting up in the kitchen. He’s a plump older man named Peter with a huge moustache and seems happier to see Warlock than anyone has been in years.

After being shooed out of the cooking area, Warlock seats himself at the table and listens to the chef chatter on about the area. He doubts he’s going to remember a word of it but listening to someone talk happily is calming. So often conversation in his house are about his father’s job or an argument between his parents, so inane chatter feels like a relief. 

Eventually a big bowl of soup and toast is put in front of the teenager who eats up every drop enthusiastically. After a lifetime of posh snobby meals at posh snobby restaurants with posh snobby people, simple comforting food makes Warlock unbelievably happy.

An hour later after refusing multiple more snacks, Warlock manages to extract himself from the kitchen. His chest feels a hundred pounds lighter after being around someone who seems so kind and happy. He’s old enough to know not everyone in England is a good person but the overwhelming majority that he’s met seem to be genuinely nice. Even the kids who teased him for his weird habits in school would play with him on the monkey bars with them at recess and invited him to birthday parties. Warlock could never figure out if it was because of his father’s money and position or if they were just nice people but didn’t care enough to find out.

There are more people in the house cleaning and getting ready for his father’s arrival but it’s just as easy as the day before for Warlock to sneak outside. With an armful of blankets and pillows the teenager scuttles outside and throws them all up before climbing up after them. Once he’s built a nest the teenager curls up with his history book again and reads contently for the rest of the afternoon.

When he’s starting to run out of pages and has a crick in his neck from where he’s been lying, Warlock starts to consider going back inside.

Thaddeus should be arriving some time in the early morning so it’s likely to be another depressing meal alone. Warlock still hasn’t seen his mother since they arrived and doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. It means he isn’t being picked at for his life choices or forced into painful small talk but at the same time, he misses having company.

When he goes inside, as expected, the dining hall is completely empty so Warlock trails down to the kitchen again. Peter seems just as happy to see him as before, so they spend another hour chatting while Warlock chows down on a large bowl of spaghetti.

Warlock leaves the kitchen with his spirits thoroughly lifted and a plan forming in his mind. Peter had given a plethora of suggestions for places to go sightseeing, so Warlock intends to visit every single one.

Tomorrow morning he’s going to head down to the kitchen bright and early with a notebook to write down all the places close by. If everything goes to plan, he’ll be able to sneak out of the house while his father sleeps off jetlag and his mother sleeps off a hangover so no one will even miss him. It heavily relies on the universe being in his favour, which it rarely is, but Warlock’s willing to trust that his streak of bad luck must come to an end eventually.

Another sleepless night later, Warlock heads out of his room with determination.

After waking up he’d stuffed himself into his tightest pair of jeans (secretly from the women’s department of the store, not that he’d admit it to his parents in a million years) and combed through the rats nest his hair had become. Once the teenager was looking presentable, he’d sprayed himself with a quite indecent amount of cologne, collected his phone and wallet, then headed to the kitchen on a mission.

Seemingly delighted to hear that Warlock had been paying attention and cared about what he’d said, Peter happily gives more recommendations for tourist hotspots. His comments about waiting a couple of days for Thaddeus to become accustomed to the English climate make it clear he thought they’d be family trips, but Warlock doesn’t have the heart to correct him. A small naive part of him hopes it might end up happening, but the bigger rational side knows any word of this to his parents would put an end to his adventures.

While carefully brushing off questions about plans for the day, Warlock wolfs down a bowl of porridge and stuffs a couple of snacks in his pockets before heading out.

The whole way down the driveway Warlock worries someone is going to see him and drag him back inside. As always, the cynical part of his brain whispers that at least if he were forbidden to leave it would mean someone actually cared but is quickly told to shut up.

Once out on the street, the teenager takes a long breath of air and sets off in a random direction, not particularly caring where he ends up. He has £50 in his pocket that should get him through the day, and if it all goes wrong, he has international calling to beg someone to come save him.

It takes some aimless wandering, but Warlock eventually stumbles upon an entrance to the London Underground. Despite being pure luck, he’s extremely happy with this turn of events and jumps down the stairs two at a time.

15 minutes, an aggravating conversation with the lady in the ticket booth and a lot of squinting at a map later, Warlock boards a train to central London.

People watching entertains him for most of the trip, along with fretting about getting off at the right stop, so he’s in a great mood. Even when he emerges back into the sunlight in a crowd of people, Warlock feels so happy to finally be free.

The morning is spent wandering through central London, sightseeing and enjoying the alone time. Warlock quickly realises his money isn’t going to get him nearly as far as he hoped but can’t find it in himself to care. It would be great to go on the London Eye or get piles of souvenirs but walking aimlessly gives him just as much joy. Once he gets home tonight, he’ll beg his mother for more money so tomorrow can be a more productive day, and today can be a day to get to know the area.

After depressingly finding out people aren’t allowed inside Big Ben at the moment, the teenager finds his way to Westminster Abbey and sneaks inside with a large tour group. He manages to entertain himself for the rest of the morning looking around and badly sketching the architecture before all he can think about is lunch.

Close by he finds a cafe and spends most of his remaining money on a heaping pile of fish and chips with a latte. He’s never been the biggest coffee fan but waking up early and spending most of his day walking around has exhausted him. It’s still the best day Warlock’s had in a long time but he wishes he’d gone to the gym a few times before the trip so he was in better shape.

Once he’s inhaled his expensive, but admittedly delicious, lunch he heads back to Westminster. This time it’s harder to sneak inside but after lurking for half an hour he gets inside and spends the rest of the day wandering and doodling.

Getting back on the train and heading back home is one of the hardest things Warlock has to do. Exploring and travelling by himself was exactly what he’d wanted from this trip and he just hopes it won’t be taken away from him. No one’s tried to call him or get in contact with him in any way, so Warlock desperately hopes no one has noticed he’s gone. Having one day of happiness and freedom was wonderful but he’d love it even more if the rest of their trip can be just like today.

While walking down the driveway to their rented cottage Warlock’s braced for a scolding that never comes. He gets inside the house without seeing anyone else and makes his way to the kitchen to see Peter, the only person that seems like he might care.

As expected, the man shoos Warlock into his normal seat and starts to chat, mostly about what his parents have gotten up to for the day. From the sound of it, his father got in around 4am and slept through lunch due to jetlag. His mother hasn’t been seen at all, but his father emerged once to request a steak sent to his room before retreating. Since his parents haven’t shared a room for at least a decade and didn’t mention his absence, Warlock presumes everything will be ok. No one found out about his adventuring which means he can sneak away again tomorrow, provided one of his parents give him money.

After two helpings of lasagne Warlock retreats upstairs and goes to knock on his mother’s door, bracing himself against the smell of stale vodka. All it takes is a couple of minutes of whining before his mother shoves her credit hand into the teenager’s hand and shoos him out the door.

The usual feeling of sadness at the state of his mother is drowned out by a feeling of accomplishment. Warlock’s presence may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back in regards to his parent’s marriage but he’s gotten good at using that to his advantage.

The sight of him makes his mother deeply uncomfortable so she’ll usually do whatever will get him to leave the quickest, without fully considering it. If necessary, Warlock isn’t above using his parent’s dislike of each other against them, but it rarely comes to that. He’s aware it’s manipulative and bordering on cruel, but after the terrible childhood they gave him, he thinks its well worth it. If they’re not even going to try doing their job as parents, they don’t deserve to be treated with love and respect.

It involves a few white lies and sneaking around but the next few days are some of the best Warlock has ever experienced.

His parents are fighting as they inevitably always do so no one pays Warlock any attention. The household is busy trying to smother the flames before anything else explodes so a teenager running rampant isn’t anyone’s main concern.

Without anyone looking out for him, Warlock manages 3 days of travelling into London. With unlimited access to his mother’s credit card he’s able to go to an aquarium, a carnival, inside Big Ben, on a boat tour down the Thames and find many delicious cafes.

Despite it being lonely to see so many interesting things without anyone to share them with, Warlock’s loving his life. Every quiet moment he gets is spent reliving the day’s experiences and coming up with far fetched plans to stay in England. They range from running away on the day of their flight to paying someone to kidnap him and smuggle him away to Scotland so no one can find him. None of the ideas are any good but that doesn’t stop him coming up with more and more wild ones.

After 17 years on Earth Warlock knows all good things come to an end but is still disappointed when reality catches up with him.

As he gets back from his fourth day of adventuring, he sees a light on in the downstairs living room and ventures in to check on it. He presumes someone simply forgot about it and goes to turn it off but stops when he sees his mother on one of the couches.

There are a few tense moments of staring at each other before Harriet motions for her son to come closer. Warlock hesitantly edges his way over to the couch, waiting to get chewed out for spending too much money or for going off on his own. Instead, he gets one of his mother’s frail arms around his shoulders as she pulls him closer to her chest and lets her soft cinnamon perfume overwhelm his senses.

Warlock’s body stays rigid for a long moment before he sinks into his mother, arms snaking around her waist and head resting on her shoulder against her soft silk scarf. It’s been a long time since they hugged so Warlock doesn’t know why this is happening but isn’t going to protest it. For once his mother smells like her usual scent rather than stale alcohol and looks mostly put together. For a kid who was prepared for her to spend the holiday locked in her room, it feels like a miracle and he can only hope it lasts more than a single night.

Both Dowling’s enjoy the contact until Harriet breaks the silence to murmur “I know you’ve been having fun by yourself, but I need to ask you to stay home tomorrow. Your father’s going to have some colleagues over for brunch and wants to show us both off to them. I promise I’ll let you go off and do whatever you want after that but just play along for one day to appease him”

“Does…” Warlock begins, stalling in the middle of his sentence before deciding to press on despite the consequences “Does this mean you’ll be staying sober and actually leaving your room tomorrow? If I’m going to be paraded around like a prized cow in front of a group of stuff old men, I at least want to be with you”

Harriet’s arms tighten around her son and he feels her nod against his head “I will sweetheart, we’ve just got to get through this then we can go back to what we know best”

That statement cuts Warlock deep at the same time as comforting him. He would be glad to know he only has to spend a single day with his father if it didn’t mean the same for his mother.

As always, she doesn’t seem to realise how hurtful she is without even trying. Thaddeus has mastered the art of being subtly cruel, but Harriet manages to hurt her son while trying to be nice. She’s never been good with emotions but even the most obtuse person should realise how much their child is hurting due to their actions.

Warlock’s been longing for more time with his mother since he was born, but she sees spending time with him as nothing more than a means to an end. She’ll smile and play nice when it’s required but the second they’re behind closed doors she draws away. Asking for someone to see him as something more than a cute toy to be used shouldn’t be such a struggle. Warlock’s aware that he deserves much better but can’t for the life of him figure out how to go about getting it.

Another 10 minutes are spent hugging on the couch until Harriet starts to squirm and shuffles away from her son despite his whimper of protest. She fixes her scarf back into place then strokes her fingers through his shoulder length black hair a couple of times before sighing “Remind me to send you for a haircut when we get home, your father would hate to think you’d started looking like a girl”

Without another word she gets up from the couch and leaves, oblivious to Warlock whispering into the empty room “Maybe I want to look like a girl”

* * *

The next morning sees Warlock in a rotten mood as he stamps around the house looking for something to do. All the staff are cleaning and getting ready for his father’s visitors so he can’t even find someone to bug. They all look stressed enough that he’d feel bad giving them even more problems by complaining like a toddler.

After sulking around the house for half an hour, Warlock snatches an apple and an orange from a passing fruit bowl then retreats to his tree with a new book.

A good couple of hours working through his novel cheers the teenager up as much as it can but he’s still feeling depressed. He hasn’t seen his father since they left Washington and isn’t looking forward to it in the slightest. It’ll turn out to be a very long day of borderline rude comments and feeling like a piece of trash for not meeting everyone’s expectations.

When Thaddeus’ political colleagues start to arrive at 11am, Warlock lurks in the tree for a long time, talking himself into going inside. Even though it’ll get him in enormous trouble with both parents it’ll almost be worth it to escape an awkward meal.

It’s only when he hears Harriet calling his name that Warlock finally caves and goes inside. If she knows about his spot, he’ll no longer have somewhere private to hide away and will be subjected to his parents demands all day.

Since there’s people in the house all he gets is a dirty look from his mother for his clothes being rumpled before he’s pulled into the dining room.

To no one’s surprise, the next 2 hours are torture.

The visiting politicians might be English but they’re just as rude and opinionated as his boisterous American father. Most of the conversation is centred around their jobs or the trips they’ve gone on with their families lately, all said in loud proud voices. The only good thing about being at a table with 8 men trying to out do each other is that it leaves very little for Warlock to do. All that’s required of him is to smile and nod at his father’s anecdotes, staying the perfect, quiet son he’s expected to be.

Over the night to amuse himself, Warlock makes a game out of counting every racist, sexist, or homophobic comment made by the dinner party. By the time people are lingering over cups of coffee, the tally has reached 37 and he’s extremely close to losing his cool. Even though it’s nothing he hasn’t heard for the last 17 years, it never stops hurting to hear the hate his father spews.

In the context of politics Warlock could almost excuse it but his father’s prejudice is even crueller behind closed doors. He’s not yet aware of his son’s sexuality which makes the prospect of coming into one of the most terrifying things Warlock can imagine. If Thaddeus feels comfortable voicing his hatred of homosexuality over the dinner table, he’d be capable of much worse when faced with a real gay person. The fact that the real gay person might be his own flesh and blood seems like it would only make him more aggressive towards the situation.

After all that Warlock’s been through, he can’t help thinking that violently homophobic parents are the cherry on top. If they’re going to be uncaring and emotionally distant, they could at least do him a favour and not care about how he lives his life. Instead he’s ignored and rejected until he finds a label that fits him or something he cares about which makes them pay attention to him long enough to break his spirits and ruin his happiness again.

It wouldn’t do much towards the myriad of mental problems Warlock’s already facing, but if he were allowed a boyfriend it would at least give him a sliver of hope in the darkness.

By the time the door closes behind the last guest, Warlock’s head is throbbing, and his limbs feel as though they’re made of steel. He only manages a few murmurs in agreement when his father boasts about what a successful morning it had been before dragging himself to his room.

The teenager is asleep as his head hits the pillow and he sleeps soundly until he gets a knock on his door.

Groggy and disorientated from the nap, Warlock stumbles to the door, pulling it open to see his mother chewing one of her immaculately polished fingernails. Harriet’s face flutters into a weak smile when she sees him and she reaches out a hand to brush his cheek “You look like a mess darling, clean yourself up and be downstairs for dinner in half an hour. I don’t need to tell you how your father would react to seeing you look so untidy”

“But…” Warlock trails off in confusion as his brain struggles to reboot “We already had brunch, aren’t you two just going to have dinner in your rooms again?”

“Your father would like a proper family dinner so we’re going to oblige him. Play nice pet, it’s the least you could do to keep him happy since he is funding this lavish holiday of yours”

She spins and walks away without another word, leaving Warlock standing in his doorway, brimming with anger and resentment. It appears the nice few minutes they spend together last night have been completely forgotten and his usual frigid mother is back. It was foolish to expect anything else, but it still feels like Warlock’s lost something he only just gained.

While grumbling about hating his family, Warlock smooths out the wrinkles in the clothes he fell asleep in and brushes his hair. Instead of another peaceful meal filled with Peter’s friendly chatter it’s going to be a painful dinner filled with his parents jabbing at each other and at him.

After the terrible brunch he had to sit through, Warlock’s at the end of his tether and doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. If he hears one more disgusting sexual joke about a woman’s body, he’s going to lose his cool and storm out of the room. He’s not a toddler anymore so it’ll get him severely punished but it would almost be worth it to escape his father for another night.

Warlock trails downstairs with a gloom hanging over him which only gets worse when he sees the dining room. His parents are sitting at either ends of the dining table with a chair in the middle of the table, obviously waiting for him. If given a choice, Warlock would probably choose to sit as close to his mother as he can. She might be garbage as a mother, but an awkwardly silent dinner would be much preferred to one filled with his father’s choice of discussions. Instead he’s forced into the middle of them yet again, a scapegoat of their failing marriage and unfulfilling lives.

Thankfully, the first course of dinner is filled with nothing but his father’s inane chatter while Warlock tries to choke himself with the roast potatoes.

Eventually the conversation shifts and Thaddeus’ attention fixates on his son. While cutting pieces off his steak, the politician runs his eyes over the teenager appraisingly. His grimace makes it clear he isn’t impressed with what he sees but he still forges on.

“Warlock sit up straight, real men don’t slouch like sissies”

The teenager fixes his posture while chewing unhappily on a piece of meat. When he doesn’t receive an answer Thaddeus changes track and starts talking about his colleagues and their daughters. Warlock knows very well where this is going but refuses to do anything that could prolong this particular discussion.

Ever since his 16th birthday his parents have been trying to set him up with what they call ‘lovely marriage aged girls’. Many of them have admittedly been quite lovely but the idea of spending his life with any of them sends Warlock running within an hour. None of them share any of his interests and seem happy in their roles of perfect political pawns without wanting anything more with their lives. Warlock assumes there must be some daughters who hate the lifestyle as much as he does but doubts his parents would ever let him within a mile of any of them. They have enough trouble getting him to play along as it is without bringing another rebellious teenager into the picture.

As he has so many times, Warlock receives the speech about needing to find a good respectable girl to date to help boost the family’s image and build connections.

A few feeble attempts at brushing off the matchmaking by saying he’s only 17 and needs to focus on school only meet a scoff from Thaddeus who believes you’re never too young to serve your family. He insists even if Warlock doesn’t find a girl who lives up to the family’s needs, he’ll start networking and at least one of the girls he meets will have a friend who’ll suit their needs.

It’s the most old fashioned view of marriage Warlock has ever heard outside a Jane Austen novel and he’s speechless despite none of this being new information. If his father’s willing to talk about women as nothing more than objects in front of his own wife, of course he’ll be the same about Warlock’s theoretical future wife. If Warlock weren’t so painfully gay, he’d pity that future wife for landing herself such a terrible family-in-law.

When Warlock still doesn’t give a proper reply Thaddeus puts down his knife and fork to lean towards his son “If you’ve already found a good girl she can come over to the house to meet us tomorrow to get approval. If not, we’re going to go to a dinner tomorrow with plenty of young ladies so you can choose one. We can spend the rest of the holiday getting to know her then she can come back to DC with us until you’re old enough to get married and start a career of your own”

There’s a pit in Warlock’s stomach as his father plans out his entire future over the dinner table as though it means nothing. Marriage to a girl he has no interest in at 21 before having 4 kids by the time they’re 30 while Warlock becomes a politician sounds like his idea of Hell. It’s not the life he wants for himself, the poor girl who gets stuck with him or the future children they’re supposed to have.

Quietly Warlock mutters “But what if I don’t meet the right girl?” but his father booms with laughter and slams a hand on the table “There’s no such thing as the right girl, you find one that will suit the family then fulfil your needs other places”

The idea of his father cheating on his mother and so casually ordering him to do the same has Warlock seeing red. The teenager drops his cutlery with a clatter as he spits out “And what if I would rather find a boy? What if I’d rather have a husband I’m actually in love with than a girl I’d only neglect and grow to resent?”

For 5 long seconds there’s complete silence in the room before Thaddeus starts shouting that no son of his will ever be a faggot. Warlock’s still furious so he sits in place seething with anger and flicking glances over at his mother who hasn’t moved a muscle.

Eventually his father calms down enough to growl “I don’t know who let those disgusting homosexuals near you, but you need to get it out of your head right this second”

Warlock knows this is already the worst coming out possible so he throws all caution to the wind and replies “I can’t be a homosexual if I’m not even sure I’m a man, would you be fine with me having a husband if I identified as a girl?”

That sets off another round of shouting which Warlock decides he isn’t going to stick around for. He’s seen his father get angry enough to start throwing plates in the past and isn’t going to risk sticking around for that. A lot of mistakes have been made tonight but letting it devolve into physical abuse isn’t going to be another one.

As he storms out of the room, he hears his father yell after him “Until you get those ideas out of your head you’re not welcome in this household”

It should terrify him to know in one evening he’s made himself homeless and lost his family, but Warlock can’t find the will to care. His sexuality isn’t something that’s going to change overnight because he’s told it should so this was always going to happen. The blow up was inevitable and Warlock would rather have it happen on his own terms than after he was forced into a relationship with a woman.

All the way out of the house Warlock’s filled with a sense of righteous indignation but by the time he’s walked 5 blocks away he’s cooled down. If he’d thought this through better, he would have left with more than his phone and a few pounds in his pocket. In terms of plans to run away, this one is pretty terrible but it’s still better than spending another night at home.

Before long tears have started dripping down the teenager’s cheeks despite his best efforts to hold them back.

Emotionally he lost his parents a long time ago but being physically abandoned alongside the emotional neglect is the cherry on top. Warlock always knew the relationship with his father was bound to crash and burn but he had higher hopes for his mother. A tiny part of him hoped she’d come after him to apologise and beg him not to leave but yet again she failed him. Harriet might pretend to love him when she needs something but ultimately, whatever affection she holds for him pales in comparison with the rich comfortable life she has with his father. Standing up for her queer mess of a son isn’t worth losing everything and ending up on the streets alongside him. If he weren’t as furious and heartbroken he’d almost accept the choice she’d made as probably being the right one.

If Warlock were slightly less distraught, he might wonder what the future would hold but it hurt too much to think clearly. Instead he focuses on the pavement in front of him and walks until his calves ache before looking for somewhere to spend the night. There are so many other things he'll need to figure out tomorrow but for now he needs a safe place to sleep. He can't see anyone else sleeping in the doorways of the shops he passes and doesn't know if that's because there's less homelessness in London or if it's dangerous here. 

In the distance Warlock sees a shop with lights in the windows and unconsciously heads towards it. He ends up outside a small old-fashioned bookshop and peers in the window, hoping he’d found a safe haven. When he doesn't see anyone around, he pulls his jacket close around himself and curls up in the doorway. In front of his face he can see a sign saying 'A.Z. Fell and Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books' but is too tired to wonder about it. 

After checking to make sure no one suspicious is around, Warlock rests his head on his knees and let's himself drift off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When he opens his eyes again Warlock blinks in confusion and looks around. He knows for a fact he fell asleep in the doorway of a shop but woke up on a couch covered in a fluffy tartan blanket. 

Warlock's eyes flick around the room in terror, checking if he's alone and trying to figure out where he is. The room is warm and dimly lit with bookcases full of books covering every wall. The spines of many books look old and tattered, likely from being well loved rather than being left to rot.

He still doesn’t know where he is or how he ended up here but feels slightly more at ease after assessing the surroundings. It seems unlikely that somewhere containing so many books would belong to someone dangerous. There are undoubtedly many serial killer cases that would prove him otherwise, but Warlock clings to the apparent safety to squash his terror.

Carefully he wraps the blanket tighter around himself and gets to his feet before peeking out of the room. It doesn't take Warlock long to realise he's inside the bookshop he fell asleep outside which again puts his mind at ease. At least he knows vaguely where he is and could call the police if things get bad. Again, it's unlikely a bookshop owner has any nefarious intentions with the teenage kid they found outside their shop, but you can never be too careful. 

As Warlock looks around and creeps through the front room of the bookshop, he hears a noise behind him and yelps in fright. He grabs a heavy leather-bound book from the shelf beside him ready to protect himself but stops when he sees a man. 

The man, presumably the A.Z Fell the shop is named after, looks like the safest person Warlock's ever seen. He's at least 3 inches shorter than Warlock, quite chubby and is dressed like he jumped out of the 18th century. As if that wasn't enough, he's got a head of blond hair that looks like a halo and a beaming smile on his face.

With a bouncing gait, he potters over to firmly wrap the blanket around Warlock's shoulders and fixes him with an appraising look "Keep that around you my dear boy or you might catch a chill. Now go to the backroom and get comfortable while I make tea"

He starts to walk away but Warlock takes a step towards him and stutters out "I... I should be getting home... My par- I mean um... My mother will be worried"

The man doesn't even react, continuing into the back of the shop as he calls out "Please do not lie to me child, enough youngsters have found their way to my shop for me to know suffering when I see it"

It doesn't seem as though Warlock will get far if he tries to run so he trails after the strange man. Out of all the people he could have ended up with, A.Z Fell appears to be the safest. Warlock tries not to stereotype after having it done so often himself, but he'd be extremely surprised if A.Z Fell was anything close to heterosexual. He perfectly fits the image of a friendly, gay grandpa, the type Warlock has so often wished he had in his own life.

Without checking he’s being followed, the man slips through the bookshop to a small sitting room with a plush sofa, recliner, and tiny kitchenette. He puts on the kettle before turning around, the lines around his eyes deepening as he smiles at Warlock “Very good dear boy, you do like tea I presume? My spouse has been harping on at me to expand my tastes, but I fear I’m a little old to change my ways. I may have chocolate powder squirreled away somewhere if you’d rather a cocoa”

“Tea is fine” Warlock whispers before yelping as A.Z Fell’s hand clamps around his upper arm, steering him over to the sofa in the middle of the room. He lets himself get pushed down onto the overstuffed cushions then watches the man go about his business. For a frail old man who could easily get taken advantage of, he seems perfectly at ease with a stranger in his sitting room. If Warlock didn’t know better, he’d almost think they’d met before and that the man knew he wouldn’t cause any harm.

Once the kettle boils, A.Z Fell pours two mugs of tea then brings them over to the couch. The old man tuts when Warlock reaches for it, placing it instead on the coffee table and firmly ordering the teenager to wait so he doesn’t burn his mouth.

Warlock has been more thoroughly mothered by this strange man in the last 10 minutes than he has been by his own mother in the last 10 years. It’s making all sorts of bubbles start rising in his chest and he has to pull the blanket tight around himself to prevent any tears escaping his eyes. Crying over a cup of tea would be utterly humiliating and Warlock can’t bring himself to stoop that low, even if he secretly hopes it may earn him a hug.

There’s complete silence in the bookshop as the two men sip their tea before A.Z Fell startles and looks over at Warlock “Dear boy you may call me Aziraphale or Mr Fell if that is easier for you. I meant to mention it, but it completely flew out of my head; Crowley would tease me mercilessly for acting like a forgetful old sod”

Warlock presumes this Crowley must be the spouse mentioned before and is immediately curious. He’d presumed Aziraphale must be gay and the use of spouse instead of wife strongly indicates some form of queerness. Warlock’s never met an older gay couple before and just knowing that they’re out there, happy and thriving despite all the hate in the world makes him flush with joy.

While pondering Crowley’s gender, Warlock also wonders what this mysterious person might be like. If they’re married to someone like Aziraphale, they’re likely to be extremely polite and extremely British just like him. The thought of two Aziraphale’s fussing over him and treating him like their own grandchild is enough to bring Warlock back to the brink of tears. He knows it would be incredibly impolite to overstay his welcome but he’s keen to spend as much time here as possible before making other plans.

Aziraphale seems to have zoned out at the thought of his spouse so Warlock stutters out “I… Um… Crowley… What are they like? You’re married right?”

“Quite right dear” Aziraphale says in a very soft voice, holding his teacup tight to his chest “He is the most delightful person to ever walk the Earth and I love him quite dearly. We waited a very long time to get married and some days I still struggle to believe we got here”

“Homophobes are cunts, I’m glad you got to marry the man you love”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raise at the bad language but he lets out a light twinkling laugh and shakes his head “You’re as bad as he is dear, you are absolutely correct but there is a much nicer way to say it”

Warlock shrinks slightly under his disapproval but keeps sipping at the tea. He’s never been a fan of it before, even after so many years in England, but here it tastes better than ever. He can’t decide if the old man has fancy tea that tastes better than normal or if everything simply feels better in this quaint old bookshop.

The teenager is fishing for something more to say, preferably a subtle way to get Aziraphale talking about his spouse again, when he hears a door slam. Warlock jolts out of his seat in fear, but Aziraphale puts a hand out to pat his wrist and smiles “That would be my Crowley, he always has been quite terrible at being discreet”

While trying to calm his racing heart, Warlock tries to peek out at the front of the store, still very curious about the man. When the mysterious Crowley comes into view, he’s nothing at all what Warlock was expected.

The teenager was prepared for another tartan wearing, bookshop owning old man but got quite the opposite. Crowley’s tall and extremely thin, his all black ensemble making his knobbly legs look even thinner. His shock of short red hair accentuates sharp cheekbones and a deep scowl. Despite being inside the dark book shop, he’s still wearing a pair of designer sunglasses and clutches what looks like a box of donuts in one hand.

“Oi angel, you’ll never believe what the kid at the bakery s-”

Crowley breaks off mid-sentence when his eyes land on the teenager and he blurts out “Warlock?” before slapping a hand over his mouth.

For a second there’s silence as Warlock’s head swings between the two men before he whimpers “Nanny?”

In a second, he’s up on his feet, flinging himself into the red headed mans arms and letting his tears finally flow down his cheeks. Crowley freezes for a minute in shock before placing the donuts down and wrapping his arms around the teenager. Warlock clings to the man as tight as he can, not willing to let go in case it all ends up being a dream. A voice in the back of his mind wonders what the hell is going on but he’s too happy to have any coherent thoughts.

A long time later, Warlock feels a hand on his shoulder and Aziraphale mutters “Here we go my dear boy, come back to the couch now”

Before Warlock can refuse, Crowley starts moving towards the couch, forcing the teenager to follow along. Once they’re both settled, Aziraphale sits down on Crowley’s other side and puts a delicate manicured hand on his spouse’s knee. Seeing the two of them together makes a startled yelp escape the teenagers throat and he waves his hand in the man’s direction “Francis, you’re brother Francis”

Crowley snorts loudly and leans his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder “I remember those horrific teeth, I almost pissed myself laughing at the sight of you so many times”

“Play nice love, you looked plenty beautiful enough for the both of us”

Warlock’s eyes keep fliting between the two men until Crowley’s arms tighten around him “I suppose we owe you an explanation then huh antichrist? Where do we even start?”

He looks over at Aziraphale who rubs Crowley’s knee and starts talking. Still wrapped in the red heads arms, Warlock listens to a story about angels, demons, and humanity. Hearing about their 6000 years of history is so interesting and romantic that Warlock is startled when the story moves on to recent history involving himself. Knowing his nanny and gardener were immortal beings tasked to raise him makes a lot of sense now that he thinks about it, but brings up even more questions.

Once the tale finishes with Adam defeating Satan and humanity being saved, Warlock tries to think about everything he just heard. He knows he should be more caught up on the fact that everything his aggressively Christian father believes is true, but he’s still thinking about himself. Too much has happened in the last 24 hours for Warlock to deal with an existential crisis on top of all that.

Instead he grabs onto the fact that the people he’s called mother and father all his life aren’t even his real parents. In some ways it confirms all Warlock’s feelings of never fitting in, but it also breaks his heart. Warlock’s wished to have different parents hundreds of times in his life but now that he’s got his wish, it feels empty.

If his parents found out they’d take the first opportunity to cut all ties with him and leave him alone in the world. His real parents, the people who raised Adam, have spent 17 years with him as their son and Warlock doubts they’d want that to change. From what Aziraphale said, they sound like much better parents and wouldn’t abandon their son even after finding out they’re not genetically related. Even if Warlock wanted to reach out for them, it would likely involve one awkward meeting before they realise he’s more trouble than he’s worth and run back to their better son.

10 minutes ago Warlock felt happier than he’d felt since childhood at having his nanny and gardener back in his life but that came at such a high cost. The two of them were better parents than his mother and father ever were but he can’t hold on to them. An angel and a demon who’ve lived through generations of humans living and dying would never want anything more to do with him. Their bosses told them what to do so they raised him the way they were told. They might be the people Warlock loves most in the world but to them, he's nothing but a blip on their radar.

Warlock feels a heavy weight settle on his heart and though it causes him physical pain, pulls away from Crowley’s warm arms. He wipes at his wet cheeks then murmurs “I’ll get out of your hair now, I’m sure you have better things to do than look after a fucked up kid”

Before he can turn to leave, a hand clamps down on either of his wrist, one calloused and bony, the other thick and smooth. One look at Aziraphale’s sharp blue eyes freezes him in place as the two men stand up, still holding on to him.

“You are always free to leave but we would like you to stay Warlock, we have nothing better to do than take care of you” Aziraphale reassures him before he’s pulled into another bone crushing hug from Crowley. The demon rests his chin on top of Warlock’s messy mop of black hair and whispers “You might be a fucked up kid but you’re our fucked up kid and we love you. You’ve grown up so well my little antichrist, I’m sorry we weren’t there for you when you needed us”

Warlock stays perfectly still, not hugging back but not making any moves to pull away from Crowley. He’s still very confused about what to call the man and how to act around him but he’s happy to accept the hug. He can count on one hand the times he’s been hugged in recent memory he’s in no position to turn down affection when its offered.

Again, Crowley holds him until Aziraphale breaks them apart, replacing Crowley’s long spindly arms with his own chubbier ones. Despite the new comfort, Warlock’s eyes stay on his old nanny and he manages to spit out “Why do you call me that? You know I’m not the antichrist, I’m just a depressed gay kid who’s never fit in anywhere. Adam’s the kid you care about, you ran away from me when you found out about him so why care about me now?”

“We’ve always cared about you” Crowley says, expression so forlorn that even his dark sunglasses can’t hide the sadness he’s feeling “It killed me to leave you but we thought it would be kinder for everyone involved if we stayed away after ruining your childhood. You’ve got enough obstacles without having immortal beings hovering over you, trying to keep controlling your life. I know that doesn’t take away your pain, but I hope you can see why we thought it was the safest choice”

“All my life I’ve been told what to do and had expectations piled on top of me until it crushed me. You’re the only people who ever made me feel that I was worthy of love just the way I was. If you’re telling the truth and really do want to be back in my life, treat me like a real person with opinions and thoughts that matter. Let me make my own choices and decide for myself whether this relationship is something I need”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a long glance before both nodding and Crowley shoves his hands in his back pockets as he eyes up the teenager “Well then Warlock, what’s your first decision as a real person with opinions and thoughts?”

Warlock doesn’t hesitate before stating “I want to stay in London. I know neither of you signed up for actually having a kid, but I don’t want to go back to America with my parents. I want to get a shitty flat and an annoying part time job and eat nothing but 2-minute noodles and be able to come see you whenever I want. If I go back to America, I’ll be forced back into a perfect little straight edged diplomat’s son but that’s not me. I want to go to the grocery store wearing a dress and go to gay bars to flirt with boys way out of my league and dye my hair pink without anyone judging me for it. Even if you don’t want anything to do with me the least you could do is help me find some kind of happiness”

Halfway through Warlock’s speech Crowley starts cackling with laughter, one hand on his husband’s shoulder and the other smacking against his knee. For a second Warlock feels offended that his dreams are so comedic before the demon pulls off his sunglasses. His eyes are yellow and slitted like a snake’s but Warlock barely even notices because of the pure joy in Crowley’s eyes.

The demon throws his arms up in the air and lets out another cackle “See angel, I told you I raised him well, that’s my kid right there”

“Yes you did you terrible old serpent, I knew I should never have let you be alone with him so often”

Crowley leans over to peck his husband’s cheek before turning back to Warlock “You’re a good one kid, don’t let those parents of yours make you think otherwise”

Warlock spends the rest of the morning in Aziraphale’s bookshop, looking through listings for apartments in between Crowley’s comments about good gay clubs. The red heads been to countless clubs, bars and pubs and isn’t afraid to talk about it, despite frowns from his significant other. From the sound of it, Aziraphale has been to just as many, if not more, sordid establishments in his time but doesn’t seem fond of talking about it. Warlock can’t tell whether it’s guilt for not acting as angelic as he should or jealousy over Crowley’s previous exploits, but he finds it amusing either way.

Halfway through a very raunchy story from Crowley about a temptation in the 19th century involving the maid of Queen Victoria, Aziraphale gives an especially loud huff and leaves the room. Crowley finishes his story, seemingly unaware, before smirking at the teenager “Took him longer than usual to lose his patience with me, must be wanting to put on a good face for you”

“Well he is an angel and your husband, hearing about your conquests can’t be very pleasant”

Crowley cackles loudly and puts a thin arm around Warlock’s shoulders “Oh please, he acts all holier-than-thou, but he slept his way through all the discreet gentlemen’s clubs in London at one point. Aziraphale knows damn well I’ve only ever had eyes for him but the same can’t be said in reverse. Only one of us waited for marriage and it certainly wasn’t who you’d expect. He might roll his eyes and pretend not to enjoy my stories, but he’s got hundreds of his own that can be pried out of him after a drink”

Lazily Warlock keeps flicking through the newspaper in front of him as he ponders this revelation. The more time he spends around the two men, the more he realises how truly terrible they must have been at their jobs. Aziraphale looks angelic but seems as if he’s never followed a rule in his life, and Crowley is much too nice to be a demon despite his hard exterior.

After flipping through a few more pages of disappointing overpriced apartments, Warlock sighs and looks back at his old nanny “This is hopeless, I love this city but the only things I could even hope to afford are abysmal. How do they expect people to pay £400 a week for a one bedroom apartment with no heating?”

The demon looks over in distaste and shrugs “That wasn’t my work, was probably Beelzebub or Dagon, they’re sadistic enough for something like that. I thought you were just looking through those to appease Aziraphale, didn’t think you were serious”

“Of course I’m serious, you promised I could stay with you and I fully intend to”

“I know we’ve been complete toss at being godfathers, but we wouldn’t throw you into a bad situation like that. I have an apartment in Mayfair that I barely ever use these days so you’re welcome to move in there. It’ll take some work before it’s anywhere you’d want to live but it’s certainly bloody better than some shithole you have to work 3 jobs to pay for”

Warlock stares at Crowley for a long time before flinging himself forward into the demon’s arms and clutching him tight.

Being offered a place to live means the world to him and knowing that he’s considered to be their godson is even better. It’s going to take a long time to settle into the relationship and get used to having celestial beings looking out for him but Warlock’s going to love every second of it. His parents never gave him the chance to get close to them so having people so eager about it fills a hole he didn’t even know was inside him.

After giving a few awkward pats on the back, Crowley pushes Warlock back and frowns in thought “You’re 17 now yeah? I’m fairly sure you won’t be allowed to live anywhere on your own, but we’ll figure it out. Aziraphale will probably want to spend so much time with you that you’ll never be alone long enough to screw things up anyway”

“You’d move out of your apartment to give me somewhere to live? I thought I’d be shoved in some crummy guest room and forgotten about”

Crowley looks visibly upset at that assumption and slouches down on his seat, waving his hands in the air as he searches for words “Kid you’re almost an adult, you don’t need a couple of old fashioned buggers breathing down your neck at all times. We’ll be over there the second you need us, but you deserve some independence after dealing with those parents of yours”

“I’ve never lived alone so it’ll be weird, but I guess it’s time for me to learn to be an adult. Are you sure you’d give up your apartment for me? That’s your home and I wouldn’t want to take that from you”

“Look kid, you wanted us to be real with you so I will be. There is no way I’m letting you stay somewhere without running water or central heating. I’d never be able to look at myself again if I knew you were suffering like that and I did shit all to change it. You’ve been treated like garbage for a long time and I know we’re guilty of that too but I’m really trying to change that”

Warlock is still apprehensive about forcing a man, or man shaped being, out of his own home just because he can’t afford his own place. He’s been treated incredibly since he arrived at the bookshop and wouldn’t feel right taking something else on top of that.

The struggle must be obvious on his face because Crowley sighs dramatically and rubs his chin “Ok fine kid, how’s this for a reason? If you’re living in my apartment, I have an excuse to move into the bookshop here. I’ve been trying to worm an offer out of the angel for months and this is the perfect chance. If you’re incapable of doing it for yourself then do it for your poor nanny who’s spent a very long time being blue balled”

That startles a laugh out of Warlock, and he asks in disbelief “You’re giving me your expensive apartment because you want to get laid?”

Crowley splutters for a minute before his shoulders drop and he gives a helpless smile “I wouldn’t put it in those terms when the angel’s around, but I suppose so. We’ve waited a very long time to get together and I’m not willing to waste any more time apart”

The whole decision is still extremely overwhelming so Warlock stays silent, pondering his options until he hears Aziraphale in the bookshop. Crowley leans over and murmurs “Just think it over, you can stay here for as long as you need but I wanted to put the option out there”

Warlock’s still looking at the demon in awe when Aziraphale walks in, holding 3 plates and a knife. The man gives his spouse a smile before fixing Warlock with his piercing stare “When was the last time you ate dear? You’re almost as thin as the old serpent and that can’t be healthy for a growing boy”

“I had dinner last night, that’s when the fight with my parents happened and I ended up running away. I had a growth spurt at 13 and still haven’t grown into the height, it’s nothing to do with what I eat”

Aziraphale doesn’t look like he believes it but finally breaks eye contact and opens the box of donuts Crowley brought that had been abandoned in all the drama. He cuts each one into 3 pieces and stacks as many as will fit on a plate before giving it back to Warlock. The angel frets about not taking good enough care of him until Crowley shoves a donut in his mouth to cut off the monologue.

While the two squabble between themselves about how to take care of a teenage boy, Warlock nibbles at his donuts and watches in amusement.

The teenager’s used to his parent’s constant fights but it feels so different with Aziraphale and Crowley. Even while disagreeing, they stay pressed up against each other on the sofa and look at each other with undisguised fondness in their eyes.

It’s become blatantly obvious why Crowley wears sunglasses all the time because he’s incapable of hiding his emotions. Every time he sees Aziraphale his eyes soften so much they’re in danger of leaking out of his head and he unconsciously tracks his husband’s movements. It’s extremely sweet to be in the same room as them and get to watch them interact. Warlock seems an overwhelming sense of calmness with the two celestial beings and even their petty arguments only make him happier.

At some point the teenager will have to mention the fact that pastries aren’t the healthiest breakfast and that he’d really appreciate some real food but can’t bring himself to interrupt. The two men waited thousands of years to get together so Warlock can wait another hour before asking for a proper lunch.

Eventually the argument fades off into stories about kids they’ve interacted with due to their jobs over the years and funny stories to do with them. It’s obvious Crowley’s the one who cares for kids the most, despite attempting to claim otherwise, and even his half hearted denials don’t stop him talking about them.

Ever since finding out they were an angel and a demon Warlock had wondered why Crowley chose to be his nanny. It seems like the obvious choice for the angel to care for the kid while Crowley, the self proclaimed gardening fanatic, dealt with the plants.

After hearing about the dozens of kids the demons cared for over the years though, it becomes clear why the decision was made. Aziraphale is delightful but he’s far from the maternal sort and would crumble very quickly if asked to raise a child. His method of taking care of someone seems to fluctuate between plying them with tea and plying them with alcohol without much in between. Besides, as Aziraphale said before, Crowley did make an exceptionally pretty woman.

The teenagers halfway through his plate when Aziraphale cuts himself off in the middle of a sentence to look over at him “Donuts are not a real meal, oh dear me I really am quite bad at this parenting thing”

Crowley’s smirking at his husband’s worry and lazily waves his hand towards Warlock “Oi kid what’s your favourite food?”

When he replies with “Chicken noodle soup” the demon snaps his fingers and turns the plate of donuts into a bowl of steaming hot soup. It’s the first time either of them has used their powers so Warlock gapes in shock before breaking out in a grin “Thanks nanny you’re the best… Wait, do you mind me calling you that?”

“You can call me anything you want hell spawn… Except Anthony, if you call me that you’re dead meat”

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow, previous panic forgotten now that his husband has dealt with the problem, and he practically purrs “Be nice to the boy Anthony darling, we all know you could never lay a finger on him”

With a rapidly colouring face Crowley spits out half sentences before sinking lower into the couch and pouting.

Despite his complaining spouse, Aziraphale entertains Warlock with the story of the first time he heard Crowley’s assumed name, Anthony J Crowley. It’s a fascinating story about Nazi’s, books of prophecy and church bombings, made even more interesting by Aziraphale’s clear amusement with the situation. He was the one who got tricked and almost discorporated but seems much more enthusiastic to tell the story than Crowley. The demon does seem to cheer up when Aziraphale gushes about his books being saved and the marathon drinking session they went on afterwards.

Once the story comes to an end Aziraphale reaches over to run a hand through his spouses hair and mutters “You always complain when I tell the story but you didn’t complain when I healed your feet and took care of you afterwards”

The two lean even closer together in a quiet conversation as Warlock looks down at his bowl of soup, blushing slightly. He thinks he hears Crowley say “I love you” but tries to block the sounds out to give them some privacy. It’s going to take a lot of adjustment to get used to living with two people madly in love with each other after living with parents who barely tolerate each other. The whole situation is going to take a lot of time but their dynamic especially is going to be difficult to get comfortable around.

Warlock finishes his soup while half listening to his godparent’s gentle chatter before wondering whether they’d mind an interruption. As if knowing what he was thinking, Aziraphale turns to look at him with the gentle smile back on his face “If you need something don’t hesitate to ask”

“Well I just wondered what’s going to happen with my parents. We had a huge fight so I doubt they want to see me again but moving permanently to a different continent without them knowing seems like a lot”

Aziraphale’s brow furrows with concern but Crowley launches himself off the couch and paces over to the teenager “Oh don’t worry kid, I’ll deal with those two for you. Won’t hurt them unless you want me too but I’m rather good at persuasion when I need to be, is in the job description after all”

The demon’s brow scrunches up and he snaps his finger theatrically. Before Warlock can even react, Crowley’s appearance has changed, leaving the teenager blinking in confusion.

Where Crowley’s hair used to be styled up in a quiff, it’s now curling down towards his waist. His tight black outfit has been replaced with a pencil skirt and blazer which accentuate his newly feminine curves. His lips are painted a bright red and the smudge of eyeliner that used to surround his eyes has turned into a dramatic smoky eye.

Now that Warlock knows Crowley, it’s mind boggling to also see him as his childhood nanny. In his mind he’d tried to separate them but seeing them morph brings up even more confusing feelings. There’s so much deep love for his nanny but most of that was built on a lie so he’s desperately trying to build a connection with Crowley outside of that. The demon is so different as himself than when he was playing a character so if Warlock wants a real relationship with him, they need to truly get to know each other.

Crowley shoots a wink at Aziraphale, whose eyes are locked on his spouse’s hips, before turning to his godson. The red head silently opens his arms and lets Warlock fall into them, holding him close and whispering “I’m here” in a soft Scottish brogue.

A feather light kiss is pressed to his temples before Crowley pulls back. “None of this kid” he mutters in his normal accent, presumably knowing Warlock won’t be able to handle it any other way. “Come sit on the couch with me and tell me about your life while the angel braids my hair”

“Isn’t that what magic is for?”

“As if I’d use a miracle when I could get a head massage and compliments about how pretty I am”

With a smirk Crowley moves to sprawl across the couch with his hair dangling over the back while Warlock tucks up against his side.

For the next half hour he talks about all the hurt he’s endured in the last 6 years and finally lets all his emotions out. At first he feels guilty about badmouthing his parents but soon gets into the swing of it. It feels so therapeutic to rant and be listened to without any fear of judgment. Aziraphale makes comforting noises whenever his voice starts to faulter and Crowley’s arm around him holds tight no matter what he says.

By the time Crowley’s hair is up in braids, Warlock has a soft lazy smile on his face and he feels half asleep. He’s vaguely aware of the demon slipping out from next to him and two pairs of hands guiding his head down onto one of the tartan pillows.

* * *

The next time he comes to consciousness the sun’s started to set, throwing a soft glow through the bookshop. There’s a soft murmur of voices from the front room so Warlock wraps the blanket around his shoulders and ventures out. He’d done the exact same thing not even 12 hours ago, but his feelings now couldn’t be more different than they were then. Any fear he’d been feeling has been completely drowned out with affection for his new godparents and he’s already starting to feel at home.

When he finds them, Aziraphale and Crowley are between two bookshelves, talking quietly to each other. Neither of them notice Warlock so he takes a moment to watch them before they realise he’s there.

The way they hesitate slightly before touching makes it clear they’re still not used to being able to do it. Warlock is severely touch starved but can’t imagine what it would be like to hold yourself back from the person you love for thousands of years. He’s already had enough trouble stopping himself from hugging his godfathers every chance he gets, and it’s only been a few hours.

Warlock must make a noise because Crowley flings himself backwards, pure terror on his face before he realises there’s no danger. The teenager starts to apologise but Crowley’s waving him off and hurrying into the backroom before he can get the words out.

Aziraphale comes up next to him, placing a hand on his back and comforting him by saying “It’s not your fault dear. We spent a very long time hiding what we have between us and Hell have done some rather abysmal things to keep him in line. Give him a minute to compose himself then we can all discuss the future”

They wait until they hear Crowley trip over something and cuss loudly before heading in. Aziraphale immediately goes to miracle the lamp he just knocked over back to normal again then puts his hands on his spouses shoulders “Crowley dearest take a breath, we’re both safe and I will never let anyone harm you again”

The demon takes a shaky breath and lets his head dip down onto Aziraphale’s shoulder for a second before straightening up and focusing back on Warlock.

After Aziraphale makes more tea, Crowley tells him how it went with his parents. They were both surprised to see a nanny from 6 year ago turning up but a few miracles smoothed over any problems. To Warlock’s dismay, neither of them protested leaving him behind to staying in England with two people they barely know. He tries to console himself that it might have been Crowley’s demonic powers preventing them from worrying but knows any proper parent would have cared more, no matter who was talking to them.

It’s a big disappointment but Warlock can’t think about it for long because Crowley soon tells him he’s now in the clear to stay with them. He doesn’t mention the offer to stay in his flat again but from the way his eyes keep flicking to Aziraphale, Warlock presumes it’s still on the table. He’ll have to check it out to make sure it’s not too evil or inhospitable before he moves in, but it would be cool to live somewhere a literal demon had lived before him. Even if no one actually believed him when he said it, it would still make an awesome story to tell.

Once Crowley finishes his story, he digs around in his pocket and pulls out a bundle of fabric. He deposits it in Warlock’s hands who stares at it for a moment before his eyes start welling up as he realises it’s his mother’s scarf. The teenager buries his nose in it and sobs, barely hearing Crowley tell him “She wanted you to have it, said that she’d like you to remember her and get in contact again one day”

Warlock can’t do anything except cry, eyes already aching from the amount of crying he’s done recently. He severely hopes it’s Aziraphale’s calming influence that makes him break down so easily, not just himself being weak and overly emotional.

By the time he’s composed himself, Warlock feels hollow inside from feeling so much in such a short time. He’d mostly escaped the cliche teenager mood swings so now that they’re hitting him full force it’s very overwhelming.

Crowley raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t make a comment instead throwing an arm around his shoulder lazily. He ruffles the teenager’s hair and huffs “I like the hair kid, maybe I should grow mine out again”

“We could be twinsies, a couple of dumb goths telling the gender binary to go fuck itself”

“See angel, didn’t I tell you? That’s my kid through and through”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but also gives Warlock’s hair a gentle pat “You have grown up very well dear boy. Now… I suppose we should think about getting you a bedroom. Crowley usually naps on the couch but that would hardly be appropriate for a child. Am I wrong in thinking you may have outgrown your racecar bed?”

Crowley and Warlock exchange a look before breaking down in peels of laughter, clutching each other as they shake. Aziraphale tries to frown but can’t full get rid of the fond look on his face and love in his eyes.

Living with his angel and demon godparents is going to be a very strange experience but Warlock is excited for every second of it.


End file.
